My one dying wish
When Frankie Byrne, then 43, asked for my phone number, I gave him a wry smile and politely shook my head. It was September 2009 and I was in the Downshire Arms in Banbridge, County Down, enjoying a drink with friends when he’d wandered over. He was full of cheeky Irish charm, but I was immune.
A divorcée with two children, Stephen, then 18, and Jessica, 15, the last thing I wanted was another man in my life – even a charmer like Frankie. But a few days later, my phone beeped with a text. ‘Hi Samantha, remember me?’
‘I’m going to call your bluff and say yes’
When I replied, asking Frankie how he’d got my number, he confessed one of my friends
